


Angel of Darkness

by filthybonnet



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Ending, Bodily Fluids, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced to Watch, Loss of Virginity, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 06:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17218469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthybonnet/pseuds/filthybonnet
Summary: A re-imagining of the final layer of ALW's musical. Once down in his layer, Christine is faced with questions from The Phantom about the motives of her actions. She stands true to herself yet conflicted until Raoul appears to save her. Is Christine still under The Angel of Music's spell? Does Christine really want to be saved from the dreaded Opera Ghost? Is she a mistress of her own actions?





	Angel of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> While this an alternate ending for ALW's musical, I do take some influence from Leroux's novel. I use the name Erik for The Phantom, I give him a house in a similar vein and set up and Christine has a bit more of the darkness I see in her in the novel. The inspiration for the fic came from some lovely NSFW phan art by an online friend.

“Christine, why? WHY?” The Phantom grabbed her arm tightly as tears burned hot down his deformed face. “Why? Why? All I did was love you?” He pushed her down onto the bed, face first, frantically pulling at the laces of her Aminta costume.

Christine grabbed at the bed trying to get away from him, as she heard the fabric rip. It continued to tear as he pulled her closer as she moved. His bloated lips were on her exposed back, every nook and cranny of whatever was on his cheek rubbed rough against her smooth skin.

“Erik, please…” she cried. “Must I be your victim too?” 

“No, no, no,” those lips placed kisses on the back of her neck. “Tonight, you are to be my bride. I had hoped it would have been different, but you made this so.” 

He stood up and turned her around. The torn dress drooped below her shoulders exposing her chemise, her eyes were red with tears. 

“Get out of that,” he snapped. He walked over to the broken mirror and gently removed the wedding dress and bustle that was on the mannequin. He draped the garments onto the bed and then turned around. “Put on your wedding gown. Quickly we don’t have much time.”

“No.”

The Phantom spun around, “Christine, I am giving you the decency to change yourself but I will put you in that dress myself if I have to!”

“Then so be it.” She stood tall, her tone fixed. 

“Damn you, Vixen! Must you try me! I don’t want to hurt you!” He hissed as he tore at the fabric pulling the costume off of her in pieces. 

Christine cried out and in trying to get away she tripped and fell on the bed, Erik landing on top of her. He pinned down to the mattress with all his weight and her wrists above her head with his hands. 

“All I ever did was love you, gave you my music and you pushed me away, replaced me with that damned Viscount!”

The Soprano’s heart pounded against her chest. He buried his face in her neck, his tears damping the strap of her chemise. Something firm, rigid and warm below his stomach pushed into her core. Something she should not know of but did, something that should have had her screaming in fear; here she was now in her undergarments, pinned to the bed by a desperate mad man. 

Instead that familiar ache between her thighs returned; that same ache that happened when The Angel of Music would sing for her, those first times The Angel of Music revealed himself to be a man and danced with her as he sang to her his “Music of the Night.” Raoul gave her butterflies but never this ache. Maybe, just maybe if she continued to love him those butterflies would turn into that all-consuming ache but here now, she worried it never would.

“All I ever wanted was you by my side, for you to love me…”

“You make loving you difficult,” Christine finally spoke.

“Still can’t get past my distorted face?” He snapped.

“I cannot get past how distorted you’ve let your soul become!”

Erik moved his head and looked into her eyes. In the distance an indistinguishable voice could be heard. 

“You were my Angel of Music and you deceived me!” She wiggled her wrists. “I trusted and loved you blindly and you…you…” She turned her face and buried it into the sheets sobbing. 

He let go of her wrists and sat up on his knees between her legs. Christine pushed herself up on her hands but she did not move. She had to say it. “You brought darkness upon us all! You didn’t have to! Why murder and torment when it was only me you wanted? You pushed me away because of my curiosity; you didn’t think I could handle what was behind the mask! Thought you could only force me into love instead of believing I actually wanted it? I love you, Erik! We are so alike, two lost souls yearning to be united in music and darkness. But not everyone deserves or wants the darkness!” 

“Then why did you go running to _him_ , Christine? Proclaimed the darkness scared you, that you could spend the rest of your life happy knowing he was there to guard you?”

“Because I was scared! Scared of what it was doing to me. And then your opera and I knew it was you under that cloak the moment you appeared on stage.”

“Why did you not just uncloak me but also unmask me for all to see?” He grabbed her upper arms and pulled close to him.

Christine put her hands on his chest, “I wanted to see what you would do.”

“Well are you satisfied? You released the monster! Enough talk, we’ve wasted too much time!” 

He let go of her arms and turned to reach for the bodice of the wedding gown. When he did, The Soprano dug her fingers into the lapels of his jacket and pulled him on top of her. 

“We _have_ wasted too much time, Erik,” Her voice trembled but her hand was steady as she raised it to the damaged side of his face and caressed it. She traced his bloated lips with her thumb. 

The Opera Ghost lost himself for a minute; his lids shut, the tip of his tongue protruded past its puffy barrier and skimmed her thumb. A noise in the distance jarred him out of the moment. He slapped her hand away. “No, you coquette,” he hissed. “You wanton minx! Trying to distract me with what you will never actually give me!”

“Then take it. Please take it, Erik,” Christine whispered. She pulled his head to hers, her lips finally tasting his distended ones. 

Erik pushed into her mouth hard, dizzy with intoxication. He bit her lip as he pulled away drawing blood. “This is what you want, isn’t it, you little minx?” He tore her chemise down the middle till her breasts bounced free. “I knew the darkness was in you from the first time I heard you sing. You kept fighting it, surrender Christine, be mine.” He kissed her this time, his shaking hands cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples. She moaned against his mouth and he sucked the blood away. He removed his hands from her breasts pulling at her petticoats, until he found her bloomers and the slit in their fabric. He prodded his fingers between it and Christine shuddered as she sighed. His pulse throbbed against his temple as her slickness collected on his fingers.

“I might not have much experience in the pleasures of the flesh, but I have educated myself through reading and My Christine…” he trailed off and raised his fingers higher pushing them into a fleshy nub he felt through the hair.

Christine tilted her head back and moaned. That damn ache. 

“A proper woman only prepares herself like this for the man she loves, Christine. God shall forgive us if we indulge before our vows, he has denied me long enough.” He continued to rub that swollen blub and she whimpered. “Would you agree, Christine?” She only replied in cries and moans.

Erik lifted his free hand to his trousers and started to unbutton them.

“Christine! Christine, where are you?” Raoul’s voice echoed from the other side of the portcullis.

Both figures on the bed startled. Erik pulled away and stood up, “I should have known.” He readjusted his slacks and headed towards the door.

“Erik!”

He turned and looked at Christine.

“Please don’t kill him, just let him go.”

Erik barely nodded his head as he exited into his parlor. He stopped at the table beside the open front door, yanked the drawer open and pulled out his trusty red rope.

“Where is she you bastard? What have you done to her?” 

Erik looked out the doorway and saw the young man standing on the other side of the portcullis waist deep in the water a torch in his hand.

“I have done nothing to _My_ Christine. I would never harm her,” He called out to the young man.

“Liar! Christine, love if you can hear me please let me know you are okay!”

Erik stepped gracefully down the steps and then onto his dock. 

“Raoul, I am fine! Please go away!”

Erik froze and turned back to the entrance of his house. It was only her voice. He let out a sigh of relief. 

“I will not go away, Christine! I am here to save you from this monster!”

Erik released a crackle, “Save her from _this_ monster?” He spread his hands across his chest. “She doesn’t want saving, my dear Viscount!”

“I don’t believe you! Let me see her!”

Erik smirked to himself as he walked over to the portcullis’ lever, “That can be arranged.” He turned the just enough that one of the points could touch Raoul’s head as he walked under it.

The Viscount knew he was at a disadvantage did not know exactly how to play this. He knew The Phantom would not help him up onto the dock, he knew he would have to abandon his torch and the light from the house was dim; climbing up the side ladder himself left him vulnerable to an attack from the madman. 

“Bring her out here!” Raoul exclaimed. “I do not trust you to harm me before I can see her.”

“You come in here,” In large strides Erik left the dock and re-entered the house.

Once in the middle of the parlor he saw Christine standing in the doorway of his bedroom finishing the last buttons on the bust of the wedding gown’s top. She looked up, “You didn’t hurt him did you? You promised!”

“I did not.”

“Christine!” Raoul ran through the still opened front door. In his eagerness his wet shoes caused him to slip on the marble floor and hit his head.

“Raoul!” She squeaked.

“See I did not hurt him! I however cannot prevent him from hurting himself.” Erik grabbed the man sprawled on the floor and while he was slightly incapacitated, tied him to a chair. First, he ran rope around the center of his body binding his arms in place; then around his legs to the chair’s legs. In like all his work, The Phantom of the Opera was swift. He finally removed the handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his mouth.

“Erik! Erik stop!” Christine grabbed his arm. 

The Opera Ghost back away from the Viscount, taking her with him. “Do not worry, Christine he only wanted to see you.”

The young man shook his head, his beautiful locks swirling around. He blinked his eyes a couple of times and then started to struggle against the ropes and growled into the handkerchief. 

“You see I am a man of my word, insolent boy.” He turned his attention to Christine, “Now where were we? Ah yes, reminding ourselves that God shall forgive if we consummate our marriage shortly before our vows!” He pulled her up against his body and his bloated lips pushed hard into hers.

Everything was now heightened and exaggerated. This was pure bliss before but for Raoul to see! Christine squealed and wiggled against him. Erik pulled away from her, “Ahh, Christine do not play coy now! Go ahead tell him what you said earlier to me. That you begged me to take your innocence! And then told me to only send him away.” 

Raoul groaned against the fabric; his eyes daggers aimed at the Phantom. 

“Perhaps we should just show him!” Erik pulled her back into the bedroom and kissed her again. Even though they were in there, Raoul’s chair was lined up to have a perfect view of the bed. The Phantom pushed her down onto the bed face first and tore at her petticoats pushing them back up to her waist. 

“Erik! Erik!” 

“That’s right, my Angel of Music, cry my name!” He pushed her legs up and open, his fingers finding she was still swollen and wet.

Christine scratched at the pillows, Erik pulled her hair with the hand that wasn’t occupied caressing her pleasure mound. Her head jerked up as she felt more fluid escape her womanhood. Only during that unmentionable time of the month had she felt herself so wet. “Erik…” she moaned. 

Raoul’s snarls and chair movements could be heard.

The Phantom moved his shaking hands to the front of his slacks again. Unbuttoning them, he pulled his throbbing erection through them and his drawers. The pleasures of the flesh. He guided himself into Christine. She bucked against him and shrieked.

In the parlor there was a thud. Erik look over his shoulder to see in all his movement Raoul tip the chair onto its side. He lost handkerchief. 

“NOOOOO!” The Viscount screeched. “Christine! Christine!”

Hot tears streamed down Christine’s cheeks. “It hurts, Erik,” she sobbed.

Erik gently stroked her cheeks, wiping away the tears. “I’m sorry, Angel,” He whispered in her ear. “I did not mean to…I did not…”

“This is my first time.” 

The Phantom rocked back and forth gently and slowly Christine’s pain faded and instead of that familiar ache she felt as if she was being devoured by fullness. She still cried and in response Raoul cried.

“I am going to kill you, you monster! How dare you defile her! Christine, oh Christine I am so sorry, I tried so hard to save you!” The man’s eyes were closed and tears streamed down his face. He started to sob.

“Christine, Christine,” Erik moaned. He continued to rock but moved one of his hands under her and caressed that little spot that had her in spasms of pleasure before breaking her maidenhead brought her pain. 

She gyrated instantly against his finger. She balled the sheets into her soft whimpers escaping her lips. Her womanhood clinched around The Phantom’s fingers and member as she felt her body building to a crescendo; a crescendo more powerful than any she had ever sung or seen in any piece of music. Her toes curled, every muscle in her body tensed up as tight as the hairs on the bow of a violin. And then a sweet release of a pulsation. A pulsating where Erik filled her. A pleasurable pulsating she had never felt before where that ache usually occupied. She cried out loud again before falling limp to the bed and sighing with a smile on her face.

“You’re hurting her! Why hurt her? Hurt me instead. I am so sorry Christine! I should have been stronger,” Raoul’s words came out gurgles and sobs. He continued to pull and push at the ropes, the side of chair scraping the floor. 

Despite being familiar with release through self-pleasure, The Phantom was not prepared for the potency of paroxysm within a partner, especially with his Christine. A visceral groan came deep from his throat. This was too sensitive for him; he withdrew swiftly a significant amount of his seed leaked out, mixed with her clear moisture and blood of her maidenhead. He sat up and gasped at the sight; it trickled down her swollen folds, puddled onto the sheets and covered his now semi-flaccid organ. 

“Oh Christine, I’m sorry, don’t move,” Erik got off the bed, pulled her petticoats back down and headed into his in-suite bathroom. 

Raoul hearing what was going on finally opened his eyes. He saw Christine alone and yelled, “Move Christine! Run if you can! He’s not sorry! Leave here, don’t worry about me!” The man sobbed, more tears running down his cheeks. “Christine, talk to me I beg of you!”

The Soprano turned her head to look at Raoul and her moment of bliss was now panged with some guilt. 

Erik cleaned himself up quickly in the bathroom his mind still in a haze. Consummation had really happened. He returned to the bed with a couple of wet clothes and some towels. He sat down on the side of the bed blocking Christine’s view of Raoul, “Do you want me to clean you or do you want clean yourself?”

Christine turned over and sat up; she felt the slight gush of fluid and a sudden twang of pain where just moments ago she found release for that ache. It was such a simple gesture but it was so pure in its intentions. She lifted her hand and caressed his deformed cheek. She leaned in and kissed him gently. “You do please,” she whispered. “Do not leave a drop. I do not want any blood on my wedding dress.”

“The others are coming!” The Viscount stated. “You will pay for this! All of this! Soon Christine we all can finally break the spell this thing has over you!”

The Phantom of the Opera was ever so gentle as he cleaned up his bride and helped her into the bottom half of the wedding gown. He walked over to his dresser and before he could open the drawer she spoke up, “No Erik! No wig, no mask. A cloak if you must to hide past crowds, but this is the man I want to marry.” 

Erik turned around, “Christine, I love you.”

“I love you too, Erik.”

“He doesn’t love you! I love you, Christine! He’s a monster remember!”

As they walked out into the parlor, Christine paused. That feeling of guilt passed over her once more. 

“Christine, now!” Erik was by a bookcase and pulled a book to reveal a secret passage. 

She ignored him and bent down to be face level with Raoul. There were tears in her eyes. She caressed his cheek, “I’m sorry, Raoul. Little Lotte let her mind wander. She always enjoyed the goblins and ghosts so much more.” Christine got back up and joined arms with her Opera Ghost and headed into the secret tunnel. She didn’t look back as the book case closed behind them.

“Christine! Christine no!” Raoul sniffled. In one direction he heard the voices of an angry mob coming closer. In the other two beautiful voices singing in perfect harmony down a tunnel leading to where only The Phantom of the Opera knew.


End file.
